


When Push Comes to Shove

by Naralanis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, NarLily - Freeform, This was random, femslah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naralanis/pseuds/Naralanis
Summary: “It’s always push and shove with us, isn’t it?” Lily asked, seemingly transfixed by the slow and steady trickle of blood that oozed from Narcissa’s lip as she grazed her thumb around the cut. “Gryffindors and Slytherins? Mudbloods and Pure-Bloods?”Narcissa could only shrug.“What would happen, I wonder...” Lily continued, as if in a trance, her emerald gaze brighter, hotter, and deadlier than Fiendfyre. Narcissa felt a hand softly rest upon her waist under the water, and suddenly they were moving, swirling the water as they did so, Lily turning them gently until Narcissa was backed into the wall of the bath. “What would happen if I pushed?”





	When Push Comes to Shove

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW HOW OR WHY THIS HAPPENED IT JUST DID

The water cascading from the golden taps smelled faintly of rose; it gushed into the magnificent marble tub in a pink hue, nearly hot enough to scald her skin and shrouding the Prefect’s bathroom in a dense fog that smelled absolutely divine.  

Another turn of one of the numerous gold taps brought forth a burst of bubbles, covering the surface of the rosy water in a thick layer of glorious, floral-scented foam.  

It was  _heaven._  

The hot water felt wonderful upon her bruised, exhausted body—after the brutal game against Gryffindor, it was only natural to seek the luxurious relaxation only the Prefect’s bathroom could provide.  

Narcissa leaned back against the cool marble on the side of the bath, resting her head after an exhausting game. That damned James Potter had caught the snitch, but it had been too little, too late—Slytherin had held an unsurpassable advantage in points for the better part of an hour by the end. Lucius might be bitter about not catching snitch, but Narcissa could not bring herself to care—not when she had been responsible for scoring so many of Slytherin’s precious goals.  

There was a sudden shift in the air; it came after the muted click of the door. Narcissa furrowed her brows, unable to see the intruder due to the steam rising from the tub. She heard the beating of Quidditch boots upon the marble, inching ever closer, and then came a cheeky little laugh she would recognize anywhere. Narcissa sniffed, haughty as ever.  

“I thought I smelled something vile.” She said to the damp emptiness of the bathroom.  

Lily Evans emerged through the rosy fog, still in her full Quidditch kit, looking all battered and bruised and so delightfully  _muddy._ It suited her; both her personality and her blood.  

“It’s those bath oils—smells like a florist in here.” 

Narcissa rolled her eyes, tired of whatever little game they were playing before it had even begun. No doubt Evans was here to give her a lecture on the  _morally decent_ way to play Quidditch or something of the sort. Narcissa could do without the lecture; she wanted to bask in her House’s victory and in her bath.  

“Did you come here to sulk, Evans? I’m terribly sorry, but the bath’s taken, and I’d rather not dirty this lovely water with your mud.” 

To Narcissa’s chagrin—and somewhat to her surprise—Lily simply smiled, that irritatingly wide, beaming grin she flashed so freely to whomever she desired.  

“I’ve got plenty of time to sulk” the Gryffindor said, her voice carried the edge of a challenge. “But right now, what I want to do is  _relax.”_  She looked pointedly to where Narcissa sat in the tub, partially covered by pink bubbles. “Thing is, you’re in my way.” 

Narcissa scoffed. “I’ve been in your way all day today—no wonder you couldn’t get a decent goal in.” 

Lily’s sharp green eyes held a glimmer of playfulness. “See, now I need to take my revenge.” 

The Slytherin laughed. “A bit late for that, is it not? Slytherin won. It’s the last game before we graduate. I’m afraid your chance is gone.” She said, emphatically measuring her voice to its most condescending. In a matter of weeks, they would be out in the real world doing real things; she would marry Lucius and everything would fall into place as it was supposed to.  

Though, if Narcissa had to admit, she would miss pushing Lily Evans’ buttons. It was just so splendidly easy.  

“That’s what you think” Lily said cryptically, raising a brow in challenge. “I have my ways.” 

Before Narcissa could ask, Lily’s hands reached the buttons on the front of her Gryffindor kit. They were confident and sure in their path, unbuttoning and pushing the fabric aside steadily, her eyes never leaving Narcissa’s, the challenge clear.  

Oh. So that was how Lily wanted to play it.  

Narcissa was not one to back down from a challenge—she was a Slytherin, and a Black at that. It was simply not in her nature to concede at her own game, so she kept her gaze firmly on Lily’s, never wavering for a second. There was a kind of evil glee that consumed her as a hint of uncertainty clouded those green eyes ever so briefly before being overcome by that aggravating Gryffindor confidence. 

Narcissa had to admit, Lily Evans looked decidedly less muddy once those atrocious Gryffindor colours were removed from her fair body, pooling into a dirty heap by her feet. The boots were next, and as Lily had no choice but to avert her gaze to rid herself of them, Narcissa took the chance to spare a look or two. No, not quite so muddy after all—the filth running through her veins notwithstanding.  

Once Lily straightened back up, Narcissa was back to meeting her gaze as if nothing had happened. The Gryffindor stood in the rosy mist, fully nude, wearing that abominable grin like armour. She took several steps back and the playfulness in her eyes transformed into full and unadulterated mischief; Lily took a start position and then Narcissa finally realized what she aimed to do as she took off running. Her eyes widened in terror. 

“Don’t you fucking dare—!” 

Her hissed warning was cut short by the sudden surge Lily caused as she cannonballed into the scented waters of Narcissa’s previously relaxing bath. The tidal wave caught her entirely by surprise; the water broke around her, going into her mouth and up her nose. Her hair stuck to her head and face, and she had to cough to clear away the water. 

“You arse!” She yelled to the damp emptiness; Lily had re-emerged in an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Narcissa angrily swatted a wet clump of her own hair away from her face. “Look what you’ve done to my hair!” 

Lily nearly choked in her own laughter. “It’s a bath, sweetie. Ya got to get wet.” She quipped through a cackle.  

Narcissa chose to not address the flush of fury that overtook her body as Lily addressed her so informally. She glared at the redhead instead, aware she was more than able to effectively translate her wrath in her gaze. 

She was bound to be disappointed. “Your Ice Queen shit doesn’t work here, Narcissa” Lily quipped, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “The water’s scalding hot. Actually, I’m surprised you’re not melting. This is boiling!” 

Narcissa huffed angrily. “If you’re so uncomfortable, feel free to leave. You’ve muddied my bath enough.” 

“Nuh-uh” Lily laughed with a petulant shake of her head. “Your little arse of ice is doing wonders in cooling it down.” 

Narcissa’s glare turned to withering, but all Lily could do was laugh. “You should have seen your face” Lily’s eyes widened comically in an impression of Narcissa’s earlier fright. “You’re so easy to startle.” 

The Slytherin took offence to that. “I distinctively remember it was the other way around earlier in the pitch” she accused with a knowing look. “If I recall correctly, you were the one ducking out of my way in terror.” She scoffed, her lips tugging into a smirk. “So much for that Gryffindor bravery.” 

Lily overplayed her scandalized look; it was successful enough to make Narcissa laugh. “Excuse me, that was for my own protection!” She retorted, rolling her shoulders dramatically. “You’ve got a mean left hook, Black, I’ll give you that.” 

Narcissa pretended to be bashful. “Oh, little old me? In a Quidditch pitch, no less? No, that would be unladylike—not to mention, against the rules.” 

Lily rolled her eyes as she waded lazily around the enormous bathtub. “Yeah, right. Like a Slytherin would ever play by the rules.” She eyed the Slytherin before her quizzically. “That ‘prim and proper’ routine you pull is just a fucking façade” she said thoughtfully, regarding Narcissa with an intensity that hadn’t been there before. “When push comes to shove, you’re not afraid to get down and dirty.” 

Narcissa examined her nails, pretending to be bored, yet riveted by this odd line their conversation was taking. “As any other Slytherin would,” she said matter-of-factly, “I do what’s necessary.” 

“Uh-huh” Lily quipped, plainly pretending to be uninterested. “And what would you, a prime example of a Slytherin, deem the necessary course of action when a little Gryffindor mudblood sullies your bathwater with her dirty blood?” 

Narcissa narrowed her gaze, but was unable to contain her smirk. There was a considerable part of her that was enjoying this tête-à-tête with Lily Evans. Who knew? 

“Simple” she said. “Throttle said Gryffindor.” 

Lily laughed again, it was clearer, airier, and so unexpectedly genuine that it threw Narcissa off-balance, if only momentarily.  

“Fair enough” she said, with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “What if said Gryffindor could fight back?” 

Narcissa’s smirk widened; she felt her body thrum with a peculiar anticipatory energy. What was this undercurrent between their usual bickering? She couldn’t quite understand it, but embraced it nonetheless. Unlike most things in her life,  _this_ was at least... interesting.  

“You couldn’t handle me, Evans.” Narcissa declared confidently.  

She genuinely thought Lily had a witty retort ready, and thus was surprised when the redhead merely continued smiling at her, giving her an indecipherable look.  

“What are you—” 

Evans took one deep, loud breath and was suddenly fully submerged, leaving a momentary opening in the thick foam as her body disappeared into the depths of the tub. Narcissa’s body stiffened in alarm. 

“Evans!” She hissed, feeling idiotic because obviously the Gryffindor wouldn’t hear her. Her legs instinctively drew closer, and her hands balled into fists in anticipation—Evans would learn the hard way that Narcissa Black was not too much of a lady to spare a punch, even if they were outside the pitch.  

The foam showed no movement; Narcissa felt no pull or push of the water to indicate where Evans might be going—she had no way of predicting when the vexatious Gryffindor would attack, or from where. The seconds ticked on by frenetically, and Evans was nowhere to be found.  

“Very funny, Evans.” Narcissa hissed to the foggy nothingness, hearing nothing but the gurgle of the taps and the gentle crackling and popping of the foam. She plastered herself to the cool wall of the tub, diminishing her vulnerable range. “Cut it out!” 

She screamed—a hand curled itself onto her ankle, making her blood run cold and boiling hot at the same time. Narcissa meant to kick, to stomp on whatever part of Lily’s body she could possibly reach to make her escape, but that hand was remarkably strong as it swiftly pulled her under in one sure move.  

The warmth of the water surrounded her as she flailed, aiming to strike Evans however she could but failing. The hand that had brought her under released her almost as soon as she was fully submerged, and Narcissa was blinded by the water. Her senses were overwhelmed; her entire body was on alert, blood pounding in her ears so much louder than usual, strangely amplified by the water. 

She kicked upwards, and as soon as she resurfaced, she felt Lily dare to touch her again—both hands, this time on her shoulders, pushing her back down when she had barely been able to take a breath. 

Narcissa swung her arms as fast as she could underwater, feeling them move awkwardly, weightless and clumsy, until she finally connected with something—a rib. The impact was hard enough to draw a wince from Lily, one that was audible even though they were both under, and Narcissa struck again, unwilling to let the opportunity go to waste. 

Her hand was caught by Lily’s on her second attempt to strike, but that betrayed the redhead’s position even further; Narcissa aimed a kick in Lily’s general direction. It was blocked by the Gryffindor’s leg—it awkwardly and frantically tried to swim away, but instead managed to lodge itself between Narcissa's thighs. 

In a frenzied panic, Lily let go, and Narcissa tried to swim upwards as fast as she could. Both girls re-emerged in a frantic explosion of water; Lily a little later, coming up so fast her head collided with Narcissa’s chin on the way up. 

“Ow!” the Slytherin yelped, tasting blood on her tongue. “You’re a fucking savage!” 

She expected—craved—a retort, but she got none.  

Lily was  _laughing._  Not just laughing; she was very nearly howling with laughter, in breathless guffaws, her shoulders shaking and hands clasped at her mouth trying to stop the coming giggles in vain.  

“Merlin” she breathed out through hearty chuckles, “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” 

Narcissa furrowed her brow. “You’re a horrible liar, Evans” she accused, surprising herself with how little bite her tone carried. “You’re not sorry in the least.” 

Lily looked unabashedly pleased with herself. “You’re right. I’m not sorry at all.” Her tone turned very nearly wistful. “I’m going to miss this.” She said, inching closer to the bathtub wall and leaning against it with a sigh.  

Narcissa spared her a puzzled look. “This?” she gestured vaguely around them as she too leaned for a breather. “Coming to blows with a Slytherin?” 

“This particular Slytherin, at least.” Lily said, and there was some unbound sincerity in her tone that made Narcissa do a double-take to look at the redhead more closely. Lily regarded her right back. “What?” she asked, her look incredulous. “You can’t say we don’t have fun.” 

Narcissa chuckled, unable to deny it. Lily Evans was an insufferable, know-it-all, irritating  _mudblood_ , but... she was fun. There was no one else in the castle whom Narcissa enjoyed tormenting more, and she suspected the feeling was mutual on Lily’s part.  

“We do.” She admitted aloud for the first time. An unwelcome feeling of premature nostalgia crept up in her chest. Soon, they would be out. There would be no more Quidditch matches. No more bickering in the corridors, no more arguments over Potions projects or Transfiguration essays. No more constantly trying to best one another. No more tormenting. Out in the real world, the tormenting had to  _mean_ something—it wasn’t just some verbal sparring or a quibble dominated by witty insults, usually resolved rather violently on the Quidditch pitch. Out there, it would get far nastier than a bruised ego or broken bone. 

The thought made Narcissa desperately unhappy.  

“I suppose I’ll miss you as well.” She said, and the extent to which she actually meant the atrocious sentiment sickened her.  

“Aw” Lily laughed. “What a sweetheart you are.” She turned to face Narcissa directly. “Let me see that lip; you look like shit. Bleeding everywhere.” 

Narcissa chuckled, but turned to face Lily nonetheless. She thought she must look quite a fright indeed; she could see a line of diluted blood making down her chest and disappearing into the water. 

“Ouch.” Lily said as she examined the cut. “Got you good there, didn’t I?” 

Narcissa scoffed. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from a hard-headed Gryffindor.” 

Lily rolled her eyes, but her grin was beaming and it lit up the bathroom. She reached one hand up and tenderly stroked Narcissa’s cut lip, and the charge Narcissa felt in the touch had nothing to do with the fact that it was a mudblood touching her.” 

“It’s always push and shove with us, isn’t it?” Lily asked, seemingly transfixed by the slow and steady trickle of blood that oozed from Narcissa’s lip as she grazed her thumb around the cut. “Gryffindors and Slytherins? Mudbloods and Pure-Bloods?” 

Narcissa could only shrug. 

“What would happen, I wonder...” Lily continued, as if in a trance, her emerald gaze brighter, hotter, and deadlier than  _Fiendfyre_ _._ Narcissa felt a hand softly rest upon her waist under the water, and suddenly they were moving, swirling the water as they did so, Lily turning them gently until Narcissa was backed into the wall of the bath. “What would happen if I pushed?” 

Narcissa was aware she should feel disgusted, she should feel ashamed or even simply put-off by the Gryffindor in the bath with her, touching her that way. But all she felt was a strange kind of exhilaration, a thrumming energy she had never truly felt; not when Lucius had first kissed her, not when she had gotten her Prefect’s badge, not when she had nearly single-handedly won her House the Quidditch Cup just hours before. She couldn’t quite place it, but whatever it was, it called to her; it beckoned her as Lily did, red hair cascading down her naked back like a river of red flowing independent of the bath’s waters.  

“You should know, Evans” Narcissa whispered, and it looked like Lily was as surprised by how breathless she sounded as she was. “When you push” she inched closer, tantalizingly closer, enough that they shared the same air, enough to see and  _feel_ Lily’s dry gulp of uncertainty. “I  _shove_.” 

Lily opened her mouth to retort, but Narcissa would not let the opportunity go to waste. Lily had pushed her against the marble edge of the bath; she shoved forwards, nearly colliding but successfully capturing the Gryffindor’s lips with her won. 

There was a squeak, then a gasp, and Narcissa swallowed both in her sudden hunger, feeling the exhilarating pressure of Lily’s hand grasping her waist like a lifeline, the other winding painfully, gloriously into her damp hair. The redhead took only a few seconds to regain her composure, so to speak, and then Narcissa felt the softness of those lips rising to her challenge, responding to the kiss with an intensity and bravery worthy of an impetuous Gryffindor.  

Narcissa’s hands moved deliberately to find the gentlest of curves at Lily’s abdomen, and she relished the Gryffindor’s shiver under them; her fingers travelled upwards, grazing soft skin under the water, passing through strong muscle until they nestled under the soft swells of Lily’s breasts. 

“Merlin” Lily gasped, interrupting their kiss momentarily and releasing Narcissa before meeting her lips again. Her strong Chaser arms encircled the blonde as she held onto the edge of the tub, effectively pinning Narcissa in place. The Slytherin took the opportunity to slide her hands up Lily’s sides, delighting in the little jerks and quakes and goose bumps she elicited. Her hands found Lily’s arms and skimmed a tremulous path over them before settling onto her toned shoulders. 

Lily brought them impossibly closer; the warmth of her body surpassed the bath’s considerable heat, and Narcissa let the Gryffindor believe, if only for a moment, that she had gained the upper hand in this dance. 

And then she bit her. 

“Oi!” Lily yelped, half-heartedly attempting to pull away but imprisoned by Narcissa’s grip. Narcissa smiled wickedly.  

“Tit for tat.” She quipped, leaning to kiss Lily once more, eager to feel the taste of her filthy, muddy blood.  

There was a renewed ferocity in Lily’s responding kiss, an adamant fight for dominance that Narcissa let her have. The redhead pulled back, looking positively vicious with their mingled bloods smeared across her mouth and chin. Her triumphant emerald gaze pierced Narcissa’s blue, victorious and proud.  

“Think you can handle this Gryffindor, Black?” she teased, inching ever closer—Narcissa could feel Lily’s breasts brushing against her own, nearly frictionless under the scented, soapy water.  

“You’re of course, assuming,” Narcissa responded in kind, dragging her nails down Lily’s sides. “I’ve never had a Gryffindor before.” 

How thrilling was the widening of Lily’s eyes; how positively intoxicating her genuine shock. Narcissa snickered, drawing closer and nipping at the redhead’s jaw. “You’re also assuming you’re a match for a Slytherin like me.” 

She felt Lily’s mouth curl into a smug grin. “You’re assuming, of course,” she retorted in kind, bringing her hands to Narcissa’s waist and holding tightly, cheekily leaning in to bite at the blonde’s earlobe, “that I’ve never had a Slytherin before.” 

The husky whisper delivering the last line made Narcissa’s throat go dry; her nails dug bloody crescents on Lily’s ribs and back in a reflex she could not curb. Lily’s victorious chuckle resonated deep in her chest, and Narcissa could hear and feel its vibrations. She could only chuckle in response; what an unexpected, delightful development. 

“Bring it on, Evans.” Narcissa challenged.  

Lily did, hands furiously finding their way to Narcissa’s bottom, effortlessly lifting her halfway out of the water. Narcissa’s legs instinctively rested around the Gryffindor’s waist, pulling her closer and closer and... 

“Merlin” Lily gasped against Narcissa’s lips, feeling the blonde’s intimate heat on her abdomen. “Merlin,” she repeated. “You’re so  _hot_.” 

“I know” Narcissa retorted cheekily with a deliberate, painfully slow grind of her hips. It earned her a playful but decisive bite to her collarbone, and a tongue soothed it almost immediately after a moan she could not contain escaped her.  

Lily felt emboldened by the sound she elicited from the cold Slytherin; one of her hands continued to easily hold the blonde’s weight while the other explored unknown depths beneath the rosy foam, ghosting over the pale skin of Narcissa’s thigh, leaving trails of goose bumps in its wake until it met Narcissa’s heat. 

Another moan, another gasp, and there was frictionless, easy, sleek movement disturbing the water into frantic, desperate ripples as Narcissa raised and lowered her body, seeking more contact, more friction, more... just more of anything Lily Evans could give her. She took it willingly, tightening the grip of her legs around the brunette’s waist and her arms around the head of red that rested upon her chest, delivering nips and bites as they moved in the tub, new sweat mingling with water in glistening drops. 

“Godric, fuck” Lily breathed against her breasts. Narcissa only gritted her teeth, already dangerously close to cresting over a peak reached with unimaginable intensity and astonishing tenderness. Lily sensed its proximity in Narcissa’s dilated pupils, black overtaking blue, in her breathlessness and faltering movements, in her pleading, supplicative gaze so unlike the Slytherin Princess Narcissa was.  

Lily held her tightly, surely, through her violent, interminable shudders, through the involuntary jerks of her hips and thighs, through the keening cry she unwillingly released, through the ragged gasps of breath torn from Narcissa’s chest.  

Narcissa looked at Lily intently, processing and thinking, wondering how the hell they had found themselves in this position—this glorious, forbidden, _delicious_ position.  

“Narcissa?” Lily inquired, puzzled by Narcissa’s pensive gaze, uncertainty creeping into her voice.  

“You push,” the Slytherin replied, quickly untangling herself from the redhead and spinning them around so that Lily was the one with her back pressed into the cold marble. The Gryffindor had nary a moment to react, as Narcissa was already lifting her up halfway out of the water, onto the edge of the tub in a swift movement. “I  _shove.”_  

“What are you—oh!” 

A hand deftly lowered Lilly onto the tile, and the redhead shivered at cold sensation. Narcissa positioned herself between the other girl’s thighs, consumed by an overwhelming hunger. She dropped a kiss, then another, and another, onto Lily’s thighs, inching ever closer, never breaking eye contact. 

Lily’s breath hitched, her gasps were erratic and her arms gripped uselessly at the tile floor as Narcissa scratched red trails with her nails onto the Gryffindor’s sides, breasts, her abdomen, teasing at the junction of her thighs.  

“Merlin’s sakes, you’re going to, you’re going to—” she gasped. Narcissa smirked wickedly, thoroughly enjoying reducing the mighty lioness that was Lily Evans into a blubbering mess at her mercy.  

“I’m going to  _devour_ you, mudblood.” 

And she did, with no second-guesses or anything tentative about her goal, relishing in the overpowering sensations of being around, with,  _inside_ Lily Evans, luxuriating in her softness and her scent, her all-consuming  _taste._ Narcissa’s hands held tightly onto Lily’s writhing thighs and hips, while Lily’s wound themselves tightly into Narcissa’s hair, pushing and pulling and shoving with abandon. Lily didn’t taste of mud or filth—she was bitter, she was sweet, she was thoroughly intoxicating. 

Curious and eager, Narcissa slipped one finger inside. Her reward was a keening wail, and the tightening of Lily’s every muscle—she could  _feel_ all of her around her and in her arms, and when the Gryffindor bordered that precipice, Narcissa, ever the villainous Slytherin, pushed her right off with boundless abandon. 

They lay entwined onto the marble tiling of the Prefect’s bathroom for a long time, shrouded in their own silence and the soft gargling of some forgotten open tap. Narcissa had flopped down rather inelegantly onto Lily, her head resting onto the redhead’s toned abdomen as her nails lazily scratched patterns onto the fair skin. The Chaser’s strong arms held her tenderly, and if she wanted to, she could let herself just bask in this moment.  

But she wouldn’t.  

Lily was the first to speak. “Shit.” 

“What?” 

There was a shrug, then a pregnant pause. Lily opened her mouth to try and speak several times, but no sound came out. Narcissa waited patiently, shivering as their bodies cooled rapidly in the humidity. Lily instinctively wrapped her arms more tightly around the blonde.  

“It’s... it’s war from now on, isn’t it?” 

Narcissa didn’t look at her.  

“Don’t be a fool,” she said, with not as much bite as she really ought to. “It’s always been war.” 

 

 

 

 


End file.
